


Fanboy

by timeturners



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeturners/pseuds/timeturners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Stump has a dirty secret. He writes fanfiction. Yes, yes, he knows what you're thinking - fanfiction? Lame. But it's the best way he can express his love for the Moonlight Chronicles by Linda Swann, which he adores with all his heart. In fact, he's pretty famous on the internet because of his fanfiction, so famous that he might've even met a special someone that he might be able to pursue a relationship with  ... if Pete Wentz would stop annoying Patrick everywhere he went!</p><p>A fanboy/fanfiction-writer AU, of love, friendship, writer's block, laughs and tears, mistaken identity and a shitty-ass sweater that seems to always go missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fanboy

**Author's Note:**

> _ **The Moonlight Chronicles** _
> 
> From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
> 
>  
> 
> _This article is about the book series. For other uses, see Moonlight Chronicles (disambiguation)_
> 
>  
> 
>  ** _The Moonlight Chronicles_** is a series of two supernatural, science-fiction romance novels written by American author Linda Swann. The novels tell the story of Dawn Day, who falls in love with the new boy who comes to her high school, Cyrus Serape. She soon discovers that he is a part of a cult of aliens who worship the Sun, and that his family is in a galactic war with the followers of the Moon, and that one of her best friends, Noah Nox, is a part of the race of aliens who worship the Moon. 
> 
> Since the release of the first novel, named  _Moonlight_ , in 2013, the books have been translated into 42 different languages and, as of September 2014, have sold more than 220 million copies worldwide. 
> 
> Swann has been criticised for creating a “boring” and “self-centred” main character, Dawn. The other two male leads, Cyrus and Noah, whom both dislike each other, have been praised much more for characterisation. The novels are widely considered one of the most popular modern literature worldwide, and Swann has been commended for mixing elements of both fantasy and science-fiction in her two debut novels. 
> 
> An Academy-Award winning motion picture series _The Moonlight Chronicles_  has been made, based off of the novels. A third novel, the final instalment in the series, is scheduled to be released August 1, 2015.
> 
>  
> 
> **Publishing History**
> 
> _Moonlight,_ 2011
> 
>  _Sunlight_ _,_ 2013
> 
>  _Starlight,_ set to be released August 1, 2015
> 
>  

“What are you writing?” someone asked.

     Patrick started, almost dropping his laptop. He whipped around and saw a guy a little older than him peering curiously at Patrick’s laptop. Patrick immediately snapped it closed.

     _Fanfiction_ , was the answer, but he wasn’t about to tell some stranger that.

     “None of your business,” Patrick said shortly, standing up from his little, shadowy place underneath the stairs. He hitched his backpack further up his back and clutched his laptop to his chest. The other guy curiously watched, brushing his black hair out of his playful eyes. (So drunk, Patrick thought. Everybody here was so drunk.) Patrick’s eyes glanced around the party, determined to find a place where he could write in peace and quiet. There were so many people, dancing and singing badly, and all Patrick was thinking was, _God_ , why did he let Joe drag him along here?

     “Aw, come on, I just wanted to say hi,” the stranger said. He had a grin that was way too big for his face, a smile that stretched larger than Patrick thought possible. The smile crinkled his eyes, and he looked kind of cute when he smiled. (But only kind of.)

     “Well, if you wanted to say hi,” Patrick said, only half listening to the other guy as his eyes darted around the place, “then you would have said hi instead of asking me what I was writing.”

     “That’s true.” The stranger seemed undeterred, and instead grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Pete.”

     _There_. The bathroom door swung open as somebody left, then shut closed loudly. Patrick could just lock himself inside there and write for an hour. Maybe this Pete guy would leave him alone.

     “And I’m leaving,” Patrick told him, swiftly turning away, making a beeline straight for the bathroom.

     Pete was quicker though, and he was ahead of Patrick, walking backwards so as to see Patrick’s irritated face. “Are you wearing a _Moonlight_ sweater?”

     Patrick looked down at his sweater. Yes, he was indeed wearing a _Moonlight_ sweater, one that depicted Cyrus, one of his favourite characters, brandishing his Sun Sword. It was his favourite sweater. And probably article of clothing. It looked so nice, and Cyrus looked so nice in the drawing. Can you say that about a drawing?

     It was silly, but every time he saw something, read something to do with the _Moonlight_ series, he felt a rush of affection course through him. He really loved the series.

     “I love the _Moonlight_ series,” Pete said, grinning. Yeah, probably only the movies, Patrick thought, brooding. Stupid movie fans. Acting like they were cool just because they saw the blockbuster movie series. The books were _much_ better.

     “I love it when people named Pete leave me alone.”

     _Fuck_. He wished he just stayed home, so he could reread the _Moonlight_ books or write some more fanfiction. _It’s Noah, Not Nox_ , his longest, most successful fic was still in progress, and he needed to finish it before _Moonlight’s_ author, Linda Swann, released the final book of the series, _Starlight_. (The first two books were _Moonlight_ and _Sunlight_. Patrick had read both countless times each.) Instead, Joe had dragged him along to this ridiculous party with ridiculous people, like that ridiculous Pete.

     Pete brushed his long, black hair out of his eyes. Too long. Patrick resisted the urge to cut it as Pete skipped ahead of him. They both stopped in front of the bathroom door, Patrick giving Pete a murderous look as he clutched his laptop to his chest. Pete’s charming, enormous grin made his eyes too small, and Patrick wondered if he could see anything. His bare arm – _stop looking at his arm, Patrick_ – was muscular and tan, an arm that unfolded gracefully and spread out to hold the swinging bathroom door open for Patrick, keep it still. Pete’s teeth were fucking blinding.

     “The bathroom?” Pete raised one eyebrow, trying to smirk but looking like an idiot while doing so. (A cute idiot.) “Are we already up to this stage in this relationship? And I thought you were a prude.”

   Patrick choked, embarrassed, as he stepped into the doorway.

     “Can you please go away?” Patrick pleaded at Pete. “I said no. Like, five times.”

     The grin faded from Pete’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – oh. I thought you were just joking – no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it anyway. That was awful of me. I’m sorry. I’ll just – uh, I’ll just leave.” And Pete’s arm fell.

     Patrick just had enough time to think, “Okay, so he’s not an asshole,” before the door slammed close in his face.

     “ _Shit_! Sorry!” Patrick heard Pete yell. Patrick could not see anything, because the sudden pain in his face was blinding. “Are you okay?”

     “No,” Patrick muttered, clutching his face. “You closed the goddamn door. _In my face_.”

     He was vaguely aware of Pete guiding him away from the bathroom and sitting him down somewhere. His nose stung like a bitch. But the rest of the pain in his face was slowly fading. His glasses didn’t _feel_ broken. He opened his eyes, blinking a little. Still a party, still a bunch of strangers drunk and drugged, with Pete’s troubled face hovering in front of his. He was fine.

     “I’m joking, I’m okay,” said Patrick. “My nose hurts, though.”

     “Let me see your face,” Pete said gently, and Patrick removed his hands. Pete’s concerned gaze scrutinised Patrick, eyebrows furrowed. Tenderly, Pete lifted his hands to touch either side of Patrick’s cheeks, and Patrick’s breath was still, watching this other boy peer curiously into his face.

     Pete suddenly coughed, as if realising himself. His soft hands fell to his sides.

     “Your glasses are fine,” Pete noted. “No blood either.”

     “Thank you for that assessment, Dr. Pete,” Patrick said, rubbing his eyes.

     Pete winked. “My specialty, my dear patient.”

     “It’s hot,” Patrick commented, feeling sweat all over his body.

     “It’s probably just me,” said Pete, and when Patrick shot him a dirty look, Pete grinned and said, “You should take off your sweater.”

     Patrick took it off. Underneath was a T-shirt, with a picture of Noah mid-transformation from turning into a wolf, drawn on it. (Noah wasn’t _really_ a werewolf. “More like, a genetically altered mutant whose transformations are affected by the phases of the moon,” as quoted from the book.)

   “More _Moonlight_ ,” Pete said, laughing. “You really like it, don’t you?”

     “You have no idea.” Patrick blinked some more, until his vision finally cleared. He looked around, then noticed the absence of his laptop in his arms. “Where’s my laptop?” he demanded, his heart hammering in his chest.

     “Huh?” Pete questioned, then a look of realisation passed over his face. “ _Oh_. That laptop. You dropped it, and I just put it somewhere nobody would step on it.”

     He leaned over Patrick to grab something behind him – and _fuck_. Patrick could smell him, could breathe in the musky, distinctly deodorant aroma emanating from him. Pete’s arm was sweaty and tattooed and if Patrick squinted from this angle, he could see down Pete’s shirt, see the collarbones, the muscle…

     “Here,” said Pete, and he passed Patrick’s laptop back to him.

     Patrick breathed again. He checked for any signs of damage – none, thank God – and then he clutched it to his chest, sighing. He opened his eyes and saw Pete giving him a strange look.

     “Some real important stuff you’ve been writing, huh?” Pete asked, smiling. It wasn’t a mean smile. Patrick liked that about Pete. It was like Pete never learned how to be mean.

     Patrick thought about the _dozens_ of fics he had written about Cyrus and Noah. The fics about Cyrus and Noah kissing, the fics about them … well, having _sex_ , which made Patrick blush so hard when he wrote it. The fluffy fic about them holding hands and learning to ice skate together (Noah was _so_ much better than Cyrus), or the sad one about them writing letters to each other, because they were on opposing sides of the war (that one had been weirdly popular.) Patrick thought about the fics detailing the two characters he loved _so much_ growing old together, about the fics where they died together in battle, or the ones where one died tragically and the other had to live the rest of his life alone.

     “Yeah,” Patrick said, sighing to himself. “Really important.”

     Pete went to get the two of them drinks, and they sat together in silence, Patrick sipping water and Pete drinking from a cup of God-knows-what. Not too soon after that, Joe finally showed up and gave Patrick a thousand apologises for leaving Patrick alone. “It’s fine,” Patrick said, waving his hand dismissively. “I just wrote, for, like, an hour.”

     “D’you wanna leave now? I can drive.” Joe brushed his bushy hair out of his eyes. “I mean, it’s only nine, but this place gets _way_ too weird after ten. Even for me.”

     “Yes, please,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes and grabbing his stuff. He looked back and saw Pete casually sipping his cup, waving his fingers goodbye. Patrick felt a rush of _something_. He felt like he owed Pete something. Even though he did slam a door in Patrick’s face, he was really nice about it afterwards and even got Patrick some water that wasn’t spiked with alcohol. Probably. “Well, um, bye then,” he said awkwardly.

     “Bye, Door Boy,” Pete said, grinning.

     Patrick grumbled as he left. All affection for that Pete guy flew out the window. He was calling _him_ Door Boy? He should be the one calling Pete Disaster Boy. Or something along those lines. He was suddenly glad that he’d never see Pete again.

     The whole ride home, Joe was talking about his experience at the party, thrilled about some girl he met. Patrick didn’t really care, but he tried his best to listen. When Joe stopped off at Patrick’s house, Patrick bid Joe goodnight and then realised how cold it was as Joe’s Toyota zoomed off into the night. (No headlights either. Joe was a terrible driver.) Why was it so cold? It wasn’t cold before…

     He lied down on his bed, getting out his laptop again. He logged onto his FanFocal account, where he posted all his fanfiction. He’d gotten twelve more comments on _It’s Noah, Not Nox_ since the last time he checked (an hour ago.) There was no reply from  _lewisteria_ in his and Lewis’s private chat, which left him a little disappointed, but oh well. 

     _Post more! I need my daily Cyrus/Noah,_ read one comment. Patrick ignored it. He would get to it soon, he promised himself. _Check out this fic called_ Sex on Spaceships, read another, along with a link to it. Patrick ignored it. Just more self-promotion, probably. A quite long paragraph: _I don’t like the way you wrote Cyrus in Chapter 79. Your fic doesn’t deserve so much praise. First of all, it is riddled with too much plot and not enough romance–_

Patrick rolled his eyes and stopped reading. If so many people were questioning his decisions in his writing, why bother reading? As _It’s Noah, Not Nox_ had gotten blasted into mainstream audiences on FanFocal, he’d gotten so much doubt and hate. Patrick went and made another post, this time not a chapter update, but rather just an update on his life.

     _Sorry, guys_ , he typed. _I just went to a party (it was so bad), so I haven’t had time to finish writing Chapter 95. I promise I’ll finish it by tomorrow! Thanks for reading, I love all of you a lot._

Patrick shivered as he pressed Enter. It was _so_ damn cold, he should put on a jacket or something–

     “Oh, fuck.” He’d realised why he was so cold.

     He’d left his sweater at the party.

 

* * *

 

Noah had closed the sliding door in someone’s face. The person yelped in pain as Noah rushed over, slamming the Slide Open button on the door. (Stupid spaceship. Why did the controls have to be so damn hard to push?)

     “Oh, _shit_ , sorry!” Noah said, trying not to laugh as the other person clutched their nose, making dying seal noises. “Are you okay?”

     “ _No_? Why would I be okay? You closed a fucking door. _In my face_ ,” the guy said angrily.

     He looked up and saw Noah’s concerned face, and his expression softened. The guy was blonde and had the bluest eyes.

     “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” the other guy said, holding out his hand. “I’m Cyrus.”

     “Noah,” Noah said.

     “Oh, I know you,” Cyrus said, recognition splitting across his face. “Your parents are Ethan and Celia Nox, the ship’s co-commanders? You’re _Nox_. Like _the_ Nox.”

     “It’s _Noah_ , not _Nox_ ,” Noah said, smiling.

 

–from _Seeing Stars, an Alien Alternative Universe_ , posted February 2013

by FanFocal author Patrickster

 

* * *

 

“Did you check your backpack for it?” Joe asked over the phone. He sounded worried.

     Patrick rolled his eyes, still typing away at his laptop, his phone in between his raised shoulder and his tilted head. “ _Yes_ , Joe, I checked my backpack. I’ve told you this, like, seven times already. I checked _everywhere_. My room. The kitchen. Kevin’s room. My parent’s room. It’s _not in my house_. Plus, I just said that I was fine with not having the sweater.” That was just a little bit of a lie. “It was getting too small for me anyway.” Blatant lie. “I didn’t like it that much.” Enormous lie.

     It was Saturday morning, the day after the party that Patrick barely spent any time at, and he had just pressed Enter on a text that read, “Damn. Lost that sweater I always wear at the party yesterday :(” when Joe called him immediately, bombarding him with questions.

   “It was your favourite,” Joe moaned. “You wore it to everything. Even at my grandfather’s funeral, you brought it in your bag.”

     “That was an accident,” Patrick muttered. “I’m sorry about that, you wouldn’t have even found out if that security guard didn’t think I was a terrorist or something.”

     Joe was a good friend. He was Patrick’s _best_ friend. He understood about Patrick’s love for the _Moonlight_ series, understood Patrick’s attachment to the books and anything related to it. He never made fun of Patrick for liking the _Moonlight_ series, even though Patrick’s brother called it “a book for thirteen-year-old girls on MySpace.”

     Joe sighed. “I shouldn’t have brought you to that party. It was a bad neighbourhood. I feel like this is all my fault.”

     “It’s really not,” Patrick said. In fact, he had a very good idea about who took the sweater. He thought it was Pete, that guy who wouldn’t stop grinning and making comments about how much Patrick’s devotion for _Moonlight_. He had seemed oddly obsessed with Patrick’s sweater too. Fucking hell.

     Joe made a sound that sounded half agreeing and half dejected. “Do you want me to go back to the house and look for it?”

     “ _No_!” Patrick shook his head, even though Joe couldn’t see him. “It’s just a _sweater_.”

     “But your favourite one.”

     “Still just a sweater.

     Joe made a sound of sad assent.

     “Ooh!” he said suddenly, loudly, as if remembering something.

     Patrick flinched away from the phone. “ _Fuck_ , Joe, my eardrums…”

     “I know what’ll cheer you up!”

     “Not more of your homemade pasta? Because that stuff smelled so disgusting I almost threw up. You can’t blame me for throwing it away immediately that one time you brought it to me. Anybody would.”

     Joe scoffed. “ _No_. But I got tickets to see Star Wars!”

     “Really?” Patrick was kind of a nerd for a lot of things. Star Wars being one of them. (Though he was _so_ much more of a nerd for _Moonlight_.)

     “Yeah,” Joe said, thrilled. “For tomorrow!”

     Patrick’s excitement faded. “Tomorrow? That’s so soon. I’m kind of … well, I’m kind of in the middle of writing a chapter for _It’s Noah, Not Nox_ …”

     Joe sounded confused. “Which one is that? I feel like you use that line in a lot of your stories.”

     “Oh, yeah, it’s like one of my signature lines,” Patrick said passionately. (Joe was probably one of the only people he could talk about _Moonlight_ to, even if Joe wasn’t really a fan.) “I use it in everything. And then I titled one of my fics after it, and it’s gotten really popular. It’s the one I always talk about?”

     “Oh, yeah,” Joe said. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter how many hits it has. It can _wait_. I wanna spend time with you. I wanna cheer you up.”

     Patrick rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_. What time tomorrow?”

     “Twelve o’clock, afternoon. Bring food, because that popcorn there is expensive as fuck. Ah, shit, my mum’s calling. Bye!”

     Patrick laughed. “Okay, then. Bye, Joe,” he said, then hung up.

 

* * *

 

“He’s one of them, the Moon Men, _the werewolves_ ,” Cyrus hissed, grabbing onto Dawn, pulling her away from Noah. Noah just laughed. Dawn stared in horror – was her best friend _really_ a monster, one of the criminals that had escaped Cyrus’s family and were now dangerously near Earth’s people?

     “Not a werewolf,” Noah said, shaking his head and smiling. “More like … a genetically altered mutant whose transformations are affected by the phases of the moon.”

     “Get out, Dawn, it’s not safe,” Cyrus said, his face full of concentration. Dawn gulped and shook her head; she wouldn’t leave Cyrus by himself. “I’ll deal with this _beast_.”

     “I’m not evil!” growled Noah. “Listen to me, Dawn! You’ve spent so much time around _him_ that you haven’t heard my side of the story. You haven’t heard how unfairly we were judged and imprisoned, and the labour and punishment my family had to go through. You’ve only heard stories from _him_ , the entitled, little brat.”

     Dawn breathed in sharply.

     “Don’t you believe me, Dawn?” Noah asked, eyes pleading. “I’m your best friend.”

     So many thoughts raced through her head before–

     “No. Not anymore,” she said. Noah’s expression faded into cold apathy, and he turned away from Dawn, his attention now fully on Cyrus.

     “What are you going to do to me?” Noah taunted, ripping off his jacket. “Poke holes into me with your little Sun Sword?”

     Cyrus unsheathed his blade, a three-foot-long weapon made of golden, glowing metal. It glinted in the sunlight – no, it _fed off_ the sunlight. Dawn’s eyes were large as coins, fascinated by the Sun Sword.

     “That’s _exactly_ what I’m going to do,” Cyrus said, and then lunged forward to strike.

 

–from chapter 43, _Moonlight_

by Linda Swann

 

* * *

 

The cinema popcorn _was_ expensive as fuck. Joe was right.

     “See?” Joe said, as if reading Patrick’s mind as they walked past all the treats and food tempting them, beckoning them, as they made their way to the counter to pay for their tickets. “Expensive as fuck.”

     Patrick rolled his eyes.

     “Thank God you brought food in your bag, I don’t even think Bill Gates can pay for some of this stuff,” Joe mumbled to Patrick. “Like – fucking hell, ten dollars for a small popcorn box? Thank God you have food.”

     “Stop thanking God and start thanking me, I’m the one who brought it,” Patrick said irritably.

     Joe squinted at Patrick, brushing his bushy hair out of his face. “You _did_ bring food, right?”

     “Yes, yes,” said Patrick, “all your favourites. Shitty, buttery, homemade popcorn. Sour cream and onion chips. Chocolate. Without hazelnuts. The usual.”

     “God bless you, you’re like my mum.”

     Patrick made a face. “Ew. That’s weird. Never say that again. And shut up, we’re close to the counter.”

     “You have your tickets?” the lady at the counter asked politely. (She kind of looked like Dawn. Except, with lighter hair, and a bigger face.)

     “Yes, here,” Patrick said, passing her the two tickets Joe had won at God-knows-what-Festival.

     “Great!” the lady said. “You’re in cinema five, which is just down the hallway. Enjoy your movie!”

     And before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “You too!”

     Which made the next minute extremely humiliating as the counter lady blinked at him, confused, and the family waiting patiently behind Patrick and Joe frowned, looking at Patrick like he announced he was pregnant or something. Even the little kid looked at Patrick judgementally. (Five-year-olds shouldn’t be allowed to judge people. They should be playing with toys and causing chaos.)

     God, Patrick wished he just stayed home. The _It’s Noah, Not Nox_ chapter was still waiting to be finished, an incomplete document on his laptop glowing in the darkness of his room.

     Joe was snickering the whole way after they left the counter, and Patrick finally smacked him on the head – the bastard was still giggling – when they were out of earshot of the near public.

     “Fuck off. I hate you. Why am I friends with you?”

     “ _You too_!” Joe mimicked, making that idiotic face he always did.

     Patrick rolled his eyes. Again. (He was a professional at it.) “Oh, shut up. Let’s get in the cinema before I murder you in broad daylight.”

     “Ooh, can we buy drinks first?”

     Patrick raised his eyebrows. “The movie’s starting in ten minutes.”

     “Ten minutes in which we can buy drinks.”

     “You’re such a kid.”

     “You’re such a mum.”

     “ _Ew_. Stop saying that!”

     Joe shuddered suddenly. “And, fuck, tie your shoelaces. I’m getting an aneurysm just looking at those fucking untied shoelaces. You’re going to split your head open.”

     “Now who’s the mum?”

     So they went to buy drinks. At the counter was a group of people, including one particular person that Patrick recognised all too well. It was _Pete_ , the guy from the party, chatting and laughing and ordering drinks amongst a lot of white people. Surrounded by friends. A lot of them.

     Patrick sometimes wondered what it would be like to have, like, more than five close friends. It would be hard for Patrick to keep track of all of their names. He was much better at remembering novel characters’ names.

     Pete was wearing a T-shirt – how was he just wearing a shirt? It was so cold – and really skinny jeans that would’ve made Patrick laugh if he didn’t realise how close Pete was to spotting Patrick, who was peering at him from afar.

     “Oh, shit, don’t call him over,” Patrick hissed, hiding his face behind his hat. _Shit_. He still remembered clearly being hit in the face with a _door_ , and how embarrassing it had been. It still was embarrassing.

     “Who?” Joe asked, peering over at the large group of people. “Oh, _him_? Weren’t you both being real chummy at the party on Friday?”

     “Chummy? _Chummy_? He closed a door in my face! That’s not chummy!”

     “Subjective.”

     Patrick sighed. (He was pretty good at sighing exasperatedly too.) “Let’s leave before he notices us.”

     “But I want drinks.”

     “And I want my dignity back.” _Let’s leave_.

     Too late. Patrick whipped around as soon as he heard Pete’s voice saying, “Hey! Door Boy, is that you?”

     “I object to you calling me Door Boy,” Patrick snapped as Pete walked over, wearing that enormous grin. “There is no logical reason why I should be called Door Boy. If anything, _you_ should be Door Boy, because you were the one with the primary contact with it.”

     “Well, you didn’t tell your name, so I had nothing to call you the next time we met,” Pete said, cocking an eyebrow.

     “I … I didn’t think there’d be a _next time_.”

     “You make it sound like we made sweet, sweet love for one night.”

   Patrick flushed ruby red. “I – what? Shut up. No we didn’t.”

     Pete and Joe made their way to sit down on some of the couches, and Patrick involuntarily sat down with them, grumbling the whole way.

     Pete winked at Patrick. “So? What’s your name?”

     “None of your business,” Patrick said at the same time Joe said, “It’s Patrick.”

     “Patrick,” Pete said, trying the word on his tongue. “Awesome. Like the starfish in SpongeBob.”

     Patrick groaned as Joe laughed.

     “What movie are you watching?” Pete asked.

     “Star Wars,” Joe answered, yawning.

     “Oh? Me too! Me and my friends,” Pete said, gesturing to the group of people at the counter, chatting loudly as their drinks were served.

     “Great.” Patrick sighed. Even better.

     Pete frowned.

     Joe muttered to Patrick, “I’m going to stand in line before it’s too late and the movie starts, okay?” Patrick was about to say that he would wait too, but Joe, reading his mind in a way only a best friend can, shook his head. “Nah, you can wait with Pete, I’m fine.” Patrick glowered at Joe. Joe smirked and said, “You can, you know, _get chummy_ with him…”

     Patrick made to punch Joe again, but the other boy dodged, laughed and then ran over to the line to the drinks counter.

     Patrick grumbled in silence. Pete hummed cheerily beside him.

     “So…” Pete said nonchalantly. “Still like _Moonlight_?”

     Patrick scoffed. “Yes. Of course. You make it sound like a phase.”

     “ _Well_ ,” said Pete. “It kind of is, for a lot of people.”

     “I’m not _a lot of people_.”

     “Definitely.” Pete smiled. “I can see that.”

     Patrick sniffed and folded his arms, looking the other way. “Of course I still like _Moonlight_. Why would I stop?”

     Pete shrugged. “I mean, _I_ like it, but a lot of people grew out of it. It’s sort of a kid’s book.” Patrick bristled, annoyed. “And plus, I really only like–”

     “The movies,” Patrick finished for him, nodding. “Yeah, I know.” An outpouring of people had joined the fandom ever since the movie franchise came out and while Patrick liked the movies, he preferred the books much more. And he’d never been that appreciative of those fake fans flooding in after _Moonlight_ won an Academy Award.

     Pete merely blinked. “What?”

     Patrick rolled his eyes. “I can _tell_ you’re a movie fan. You’ve only watched the movies, right?”

     Pete blinked once again. Then: “Um. Yeah. I’ve only ever watched the movies.”

     “I knew it,” Patrick said, smiling. For some reason, Pete was smiling too.

     Patrick was going to ask why, but then the words disappeared from his mouth as Pete’s friends came over and Patrick immediately withdrew. There had to be at least, like, twenty people. Patrick didn’t even _know_ twenty people. Joe was with them, and he was talking to a shorter guy with a bit of a beard and tattoos on his exposed neck, another one of Pete’s friends. Patrick felt himself sink lower into his chair, overwhelmed by the sheer number of people making their way over. The more, the merrier? More like the more, the moodier.

     “This is Andy,” Joe said, laughing, his hand around Andy’s shoulders. Andy smiled in return. “I know him from that vegan club our school used to have, remember? Fucking weird, right?”

     “Yeah,” Patrick mumbled. Joe was having so much fun. Patrick was not.

     It would be so much easier if he was at home, typing away a new scene for Chapter 95 of _It’s Noah, Not Nox_. (Maybe Cyrus would be kissing Nox? No, that would be illogical. _Nox_ was the initiator, because Cyrus was always so worried that their relationship would be discovered. That was one of his flaws, one of the things he needed to fix, to accept himself before others could accept him.) Patrick sighed contentedly, thinking about it–

     “Here,” Pete said to him, breaking Patrick’s stupor. Pete was giving him an odd look and offering a Frozen Coke.

     “Sorry?” Patrick asked, confused.

     “This is the drink that Joe bought for you,” Pete said. “He told me to give it to you. Oh, and, be careful. The lid is loose, apparently.”

     “Great,” Patrick mumbled. He was not enjoying today. _God_.

     A few of Pete’s friends introduced themselves to Patrick. They all smiled way too much, like Pete. But unlike Pete, they didn’t seem to be interested in Patrick and went back to talking amongst themselves. Patrick sipped nonchalantly on his frozen Coke, thinking about the scene he was about to write.

     “Aw, shit, the film is starting in like five minutes,” one of Pete’s friends noted.

     Everybody got up – _still_ laughing, _still_ talking – and started walking to the cinema, Patrick in the midst of it all, being uncomfortably squashed by strangers. And Pete, for a reason that Patrick could not fathom why, made his way over to Patrick, smiling. (Patrick wanted him to stop smiling, or else Patrick would start too.)

     “So?” Pete prompted, walking at the same pace as Patrick. He was beside him. “As a _movie fan_ , do you think I’m _less_ of a fan?”

     Patrick shrugged shyly. “Kind of.”

     “Why?” Pete said, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that sort of discriminatory? It’s just a bunch of books.”

     Anger simmered in the bottom of his stomach and his shyness disappeared. “ _What_? They’re not _just_ books. They’re really important to me.” Patrick defensively folded his arms. “I just … everybody at my school made fun of me before for liking _Moonlight_ , but ever since the film came out, everybody’s started liking it. And it kind of infuriates me.”

     “Oh,” Pete said, his face thoughtful. “I get that. Yeah, I understand. That must suck. I’m sorry.”

     Patrick shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” (It kind of did.)

     Pete’s pondering face melted into a smile. “What about instead of telling me what you hate, tell me what you like. About _Moonlight_.”

     Patrick’s eyes must have lit up, because Pete’s grin widened. Somewhere, sometime that Patrick couldn’t recall, the two of them began to lag behind the group, walking slower and speaking more to each other. Soon, they were at the back of the huge group.

     “ _Well_ ,” Patrick laughed breathily, his hands hanging by his side. “My absolute favourite thing is probably the characters. I – just – I’m in love. With all the characters. Even Dawn, though a lot of people in the fandom _hate_ Dawn. But especially Cyrus and Noah. They’re _perfect_ for each other.”

     Whoops. He hadn’t meant to let that slip.

     He bit his lip, turning to the side, expecting Pete’s face to be twisted in disgust. But he merely looked confused.

     “Cyrus and Noah? But aren’t they like – Dawn’s boyfriends?” Pete said (and for some reason Patrick thought he was trying hard not to smile.) “Aren’t there so many people arguing about whether Dawn should end up with Cyrus or Noah?”

     Patrick waved his hand dismissively. The one not holding the frozen Coke. Because that would be stupid. “Oh, _ship wars_. Happens all the time. Those are movie fans anyway. _Everyone_ who’s read the book ships Cyrus and Noah together, because they’re perfect for each other.”

     “Ship? Like, a big boat?”

     Patrick smiled, bumping his shoulder next to Pete’s. “No, silly. _Ship_ is short for _relationship_. It’s like … whatever characters or people you’d think would fit well together. It can be used as a verb too. Like, I _ship_ these two together. People are … really protective of their ships. They get defensive when someone offends their ship or whatever. People love their ships. They create art, write fanfiction…”

     He restrained himself from rattling on too passionately, and instead looked over at Pete.

     Patrick narrowed his eyes at Pete, who was biting his lip to stop from beaming.

     “Fanfiction, I’ve heard of. My younger sister writes fanfiction.” Pete looked over at Patrick. “So … do _you_ write fanfiction?” Pete asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Nasty, dirty fanfiction. Kinky. Stuff you wouldn’t show your mother.”

     “Shut up.” Patrick furrowed his brow but couldn’t stop the laugh escaping his lips. “And, yeah, I do.”

     “You have to show me some,” Pete said, laughing.

     “No, I don’t,” Patrick said, blushing. He imagined showing Pete his stash of more than fifty Cyrus/Noah fics saved as documents on his laptop. _Nope_.

     “What’s so good about fanfiction anyway?” The way Pete said it sounded like he was goading Patrick on. “You already have the books, why do you need more?”

     “Because it’s your chance to change the story!” Patrick said, almost angrily, spreading out his arms. “It’s your chance to borrow and play, without stealing!”

     Patrick thought this might have been a very good argument and perhaps would have convinced Pete of fanfiction’s importance, if Pete didn’t have frozen Coke all over the front of his shirt. Patrick, perplexed, looked from Pete’s shirt, to his spread out arms, to the empty Coke cup in his hand.

     “Shit, _sorry_!” Patrick said, dropping his cup and walking over to the wet and cold Pete, who was pinching his Coke-covered shirt. It must have been his wild hand gestures that sent the frozen Coke flying from the cup onto Pete’s shirt. (He hadn’t even been paying attention, just thinking up defence for fanfiction.) Up ahead, where Pete’s friends and Joe were walking, turned around and looked at the scene with questioning looks.t

     “Ah, go on and watch your movie,” Pete told them, waving them off.

     Patrick stayed. “Um, are you okay? Sorry.”

     “Yeah. Just a bit wet and cold.” At Patrick’s sceptical look, Pete laughed. “It’s just some Coke. This isn’t the first time I’ve had Coke all over my clothes.”

     “Ew. I don’t want to know about your illegal drug activity.” Patrick glanced over at Pete. “Whatever. I still think you should clean up. Come on, I’ll help you.”

     They walked the opposite way now, towards the bathroom, Pete looking uncomfortable and cold.

     “I guess this is payback, huh?” Pete laughed. “You know, for the door.”

     “Oh, no, _no_ ,” Patrick said, horrified. “It was an accident!”

     Pete caused a sideways glance at Patrick. “You know, you’re missing out on the _Star Wars_ movie. Apparently it’s amazing.”

     Patrick shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t even like Star Wars that much anyways. You're more important.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s _Noah_ , not _Nox_ ,” Noah said angrily, blowing away a black curl falling onto his eyes.

     “You’ve said that a hundred times,” Cyrus said, equally as angrily, folding his muscled arms to his chest. The handcuffs tying them together jangled every time Cyrus made a movement (because that boy was like an ox) and Noah really wanted to turn into a wolf and tear him apart. But that would be unseemly.

   The two boys had been tied together in a small room – closet, perhaps – by some mysterious, unseen force and told that they would not get out unless they worked together. Neither boy wanted to comply – but neither boy wanted to stay together for any longer. They’d been together for _two hours_ , which was four hours too many.

     “Because you’ve called me Nox a hundred times,” replied Noah evenly.

     “Enemies don’t call enemies by their preferred names.”

     “We’re enemies?” Noah asked.

     Cyrus hesitated, his hair almost glowing in the dark. “Well, not really…”

     “Then you should call me Noah. Not Nox.”

     Cyrus sighed. “Fine.” Then he added: “ _Noah_.”

     Noah closed his eyes, for the first time peaceful. “Better.”

 

 

     –from Chapter 2, _It’s Noah, Not Nox_ , posted June 2014

by FanFocal author Patrickster

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi thanks for reading!! yes, this is based off Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell. and, yes, the moonlight chronicles is meant to parody the twilight saga. our lil baby patrick is a twihard. deal with it. B)


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